by Kate Archer
As she had looked about the room, she could not help but notice that the footmen and their butler stared at her wine glass as if they had poisoned it and waited for the effects to show themselves. She’d had enough of their sullenness.
“Further, Lord Dalton,” she said, “while it may have been kind of the duke to lend me your servants, I have a mind to give them back. If they cannot manage to hide their disgust at not being allowed to drink themselves into oblivion every night, I will show them to the road before the moon has risen much higher in the night sky.”
The shock of her words hit their mark. The footmen straightened themselves and looked off into the distance, as they should have been doing from the beginning. Bellamy’s cheeks suffused with an interesting shade of red.
Lord Dalton only laughed. “Hear that, fellows? Do not think I will rescue you if she does throw you out. It will be a long walk back to the London house.”
Now it was Daisy’s turn to blush, though she worked hard to hide it. There was something flattering about Lord Dalton utterly failing to side with Mr. Bellamy.
Before she was forced to comment, a loud banging came from the front doors. Bellamy nodded at the sound and hurried from the room, no doubt grateful to make his escape.
Daisy presumed it was the tavernkeeper having come with something he forgot, until she heard the raised voice at the door.
“Stand aside, man,” the person said. “I was a great friend to Lord Childress and have every right to pay my respects.”
Lord Dalton looked to Daisy, who shook her head no. He nodded at the two footmen and they hurried to the scene. Though Daisy had been intent on keeping Lord Dalton from directing servants who were to take their direction from her, she was not so intent on it now.
She recognized that loud voice. It was Lieutenant Farthmore. He was one of the very worst of her father’s cronies. Even sober, he was not a likable fellow. The one and only encounter she’d ever had with him, he’d leered at her and told her she was pretty enough to be on the stage. He was revolting. How like him to be the first to appear. How like him to attempt an entrance at this time of night.
With relief, Daisy heard the door slam shut. From somewhere on the gravel drive, Farthmore shouted, “Rotters!”
He might shout all he liked; she did not care. He would get on his horse and weave away to whatever low place he went to next. Now that he understood he would be barred at the door, he would not be back.
“Charming,” Lord Dalton said.
Daisy dabbed her lips with her napkin and said, “As I informed Mr. Bellamy, my father was not discriminating in those he chose to associate with. None of them are to be admitted.”
Behind her, she heard a tap on the window. She turned in her seat and saw that Farthmore had not left at all. He’d gone round the side of the house and now threw pebbles at the glass to gain her attention. He waved, and she turned back round.
“For God’s sake,” Lord Dalton said, rising and throwing his napkin down. He strode from the room.
Daisy and Mrs. Jellops stared at each other. Mrs. Jellops shrugged and said, “I expect Lord Dalton will manage it.”
Daisy peeked back around her chair in time to see Lord Dalton walk up to Lieutenant Farthmore, wallop him in the face, and then throw the staggering gentleman over his shoulder.
Mrs. Jellops, wide-eyed, whispered, “There, you see?”
They were silent for some minutes, Daisy having entirely lost her appetite.
Lord Dalton strolled back into the dining room, brushing off his coat sleeves. “Pardon me,” he said. “The gentleman arrived in a carriage, which he has been put back into. His coachman will not dare another trip up this drive.”
“Thank you, Lord Dalton,” Daisy said.
“Who does the fool imagine himself to be, accosting a house in such a manner? If one is refused entry at the front door, one does not then begin knocking on windows.”
Daisy laid down her napkin. “Farthmore was a Lieutenant of the Royal Marines. He thinks very highly of himself, having attended the Siege of Tarragona. According to him, Lord Murray ought to have been hung for his incompetence and the Lieutenant would have made short work of things, had he been in command. As it was, he credits himself with an early success of conducting spying missions along the seashore. I know all of this, not because I ever wished to, but because the Lieutenant repeated it, loudly, every time he was drunk in this house.”
“Only an idiot would brag about being present at Tarragona. Though, I cannot think he is the only fool who will turn up,” Lord Dalton said, taking his seat.
“Possibly not,” Daisy said.
“I suppose they will all be sizing up their chances. Your father is out of the way and a dowry is dangling in front of them, and an inheritance from your grandmother too, if I am not mistaken. They will take a run at the place and try their luck.”
“I do not doubt it,” Daisy said. “Though my father was happy to carouse with them, they all knew very well he would not countenance a more permanent connection. They may think all difficulties have been removed, they are just that odious and vile. What they fail to comprehend is that I would not countenance a one of them if I were starving and penniless. Throwing myself into the sea would be a preferable fate.”
“Throwing yourself into the sea? No need to reach those heights of drama, Miss Danworth,” Lord Dalton said, serving himself a generous portion of beef.
Daisy tightened her hand on her fork. “If you think I am exaggerating, you do not know what I have seen of these men.”
“No, perhaps I do not,” Lord Dalton admitted. “If you approve, I will hire a few watchmen for the house. They may turn these fellows round at the bottom of the drive. You are welcome to interview them yourself if you like, but men in that line of work are not…”
“Yes, of course, you must see to it, thank you,” Daisy said. She had no wish to interview the rough sort of men who would not mind throwing people from a property, nor would she know what to ask them if she did.
“I’m finding the weather unaccountably cool for the season,” Mrs. Jellops said loudly.
Daisy suppressed a smile. Lord Dalton’s eyebrows only raised slightly. The conversation and the events at this particular dinner had veered far from usual, and Mrs. Jellops had apparently decided it was high time to return to more regular subjects.
Chapter Four
Belle Minkerton readied herself to go downstairs. As a usual thing, such an operation did not take overlong. She never could comprehend how some of her friends took an hour deciding on a dress to wear or what bonnet to pair with it. She was generally in a decisive state of mind and did not wobble all over the place in her thinking.
Just now, though, she did feel a bit wobbly. She’d harbored some hopes, the sort of hopes one did not dare share with anyone, and those hopes had been dashed.
Dear Harry Dale, or Lord Burke as he was called in wider society, was in love with another.
Oh, she knew she should never have allowed hope to grow in the first place. Harry quite looked upon her as a younger sister. They’d known each other for years and he’d teased her, and shown her how things were done, and even scolded sometimes, just as a brother would.
But still, she had hoped. She had grown an inch this past year and filled out, she thought. She was still on the slight side of things, but she was certain she looked more womanly. She was to be out next season, and did that not mean she was full grown? And then, Harry was to stay with them all summer. Might he not notice this change? Might he not begin to view her in a different light?
What an imagination she had! The true state of things had been forced upon her last evening. Harry had talked endlessly of Miss Daisy Danworth. Miss Danworth was said to have just lost her father. Miss Danworth was a lady anybody might wish to be acquainted with. Miss Danworth would be a fine companion for Miss Minkerton.
Worst of all, Miss Danworth was staying not a mile down the road. Though she was in mourning, they should in
vite Miss Danworth to a small dinner.
Inviting a lady in mourning to dinner? Did that not suggest some sort of intimacy? Oh, Harry had pressed on with the idea. Miss Danworth’s father had been rumored to be unpleasant and so it was likely that Miss Danworth was not terribly grief-stricken.
He seemed to know an awful lot about the lady!
Still not quite wishing to believe the end of her hopes was in sight, Belle had asked Harry what she looked like. Harry had taken his time answering, then said, “She is rather renowned for her blond curls.”
Blond curls! Now she was forced to understand that Harry preferred blond curls!
Belle’s maid, Peg, had arranged absolutely everything that could be done. Now, she stood staring at her mistress and said, “Shall you go down, Miss?”
Belle rose and shook out her skirts. “Never mind me, Peg. I am just being stupid this morning.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Charles spent a somewhat more comfortable night in the cottage. He was at least not rained on and the vinegar and lavender that Tate had so liberally doused the place with had driven off a good amount of the insects. Not all of them, though, as he’d woken to a large brown spider leisurely strolling across his bedclothes. No sooner had he noted the spider, than a cat leapt onto the bed and caught it.
The cat took its prey to a windowsill, making short work of the unfortunate spider. It then stared defiantly at him with one spider’s leg hanging from its mouth.
“Get out,” he said. “Go on, get out of here.”
He was not even sure how the cat had got in, other than to surmise that the cottage was so badly built that anything wishing to come indoors might find a way.
The cat chewed up the last of the spider, but remained unmoved by his directive. She was a tabby and clearly not a favored houseguest of anybody’s home. Her ribs showed, some of her fur was matted, and she had a look about her of hard living.
Charles sighed, got out of bed, and gave the cat a roll from his last night’s tray. The cat was not skittish, she did not run from him until she’d got a firm hold of the bread. She took her breakfast, glared at him as if she suspected he might attempt to take it back, and stole away with it under his bed.
He knew very well he should not have done it, for he’d never rid himself of the thing now. But, he couldn’t very well allow an animal to starve. His stable cat in London had been well provided for, in case the rat population proved insufficient.
Now, he sat on a bench out of doors, having coffee before Tate shaved him, while the cat slept under the bench. What an evening! He’d had no idea Miss Danworth had decided she would not marry. She was out two seasons now and had been seen everywhere. Perhaps that should have been a clue, though. She was remarkably pretty, but as far as he knew, nobody had yet asked.
They would not, though, would they? She had kept away all comers with her own cool manner. He had once joked that underneath her laughter was a sheet of ice, and he was not far wrong. He’d just not known why that was. Everybody understood Lord Childress to be an unpleasant sort, but since arriving to Ramsgate he’d begun to get a clearer picture of things. He could not really fault Miss Danworth for not wishing to tie herself if her father had been her primary example of men.
For himself, Charles knew what lay in the hearts of men when they were loosed in war. He had just not supposed a lady would know it. In a drawing room, those qualities were deeply buried under a veneer of civility and that was the veneer most ladies were acquainted with. Miss Danworth had seen the veneer unmasked by her father’s unsavory mode of living, and she was repulsed. Perhaps even more so because she was a woman. Not because women were so delicate, he’d never believed that old saw, but because a woman put herself in her husband’s power when she married.
Then there was Farthmore to think of. He’d played the whole thing down when he returned to the dining room, but he wondered if he might not encounter the fellow again. What a fuss the rogue had put up as he was being wrestled into his carriage! He’d squealed as if he were being murdered and swore he’d have his satisfaction.
There was always the outside chance that Farthmore might challenge him. It would be idiotic in the extreme, he was a crack shot. But men like Farthmore could be stupid when their pride was stung. He could only hope a sore head and the cold light of day would inspire him to close his mouth and move off to a greener pasture.
But if not Farthmore, how many others would he have to contend with? Watchmen or no, what he’d said to Miss Danworth was all too true. Her dowry was respectable and what she would come into from her grandmother was enormous. How many of Lord Childress’ loutish friends might think they saw an opportunity? Men of that ilk spent all their time considering what they would prefer, with no amount of time wondering if their quarry had any opinion about it.
For a moment, he thought it might be prudent to remove to the estate in Shropshire, run down though it was rumored to be. But what difference would he find there? Loutish soldiers would be replaced by whatever loutish farmers Childress had associated with.
To his surprise, Charles saw Bellamy coming through the garden at an unusually brisk pace. His butler bowed and said, “I’ve sent word to the agency, my lord, that we require several watchmen. I’ve thought of how it ought to be done when the candidates turn up. I can head them off at the front door and lead them round and through the terrace door that leads directly into the library. In that way, Miss Danworth and Mrs. Jellops shall not be disturbed in the drawing room.”
This was a more energetic speech from Bellamy than Charles had heard in years. Further, he’d seemed to have accomplished the task without the unnecessary foot-dragging that usually accompanied any work to be done.
“I find you in better spirits than I would have imagined, now that your wine holiday has commenced.”
Bellamy appeared surprised by the suggestion. “I am rather sprightly this morning, but I hardly think…though perhaps…”
“What did you do with yourself last evening, now that you do not carouse with the boys until two in the morning?”
“Well, we were at a loss, at first. I don’t mind saying it. But then, Gerald had the idea of reading to us from a book to pass the time, and Tom came upon some cocoa beans in the pantry and had the idea of making some drinking chocolate. It weren’t our usual habit, but it went over pretty well, in the end.”
Charles did his best to control his urge to laugh over the idea of the three of them drinking chocolate and indulging in literature. “And what, pray, did you choose to read?”
“The Mysteries of Udolpho,” Bellamy said, staring off into the distance. “What’s to be the end of it, I cannot guess. Though, we’re all firmly behind Valancourt.” The butler suddenly straightened himself and said, “I’m going to have a word with Miss Danworth about the cocoa bean situation. If she does not give us free rein with it, I can’t say what might go on.”
“Let me guess,” Charles said, “you will be insulted down to the end of your shoes.”
“To the end of my toes, my lord. By the by, did you know there is a cat under your own feet?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Daisy was in the drawing room when Bellamy brought in the post. There seemed to be quite a lot of it and she hoped there was not more to do with the estate. As far as she understood it, everything had been settled.
He held the silver tray out and she took the pile and sat it on a table next to her. That would have been the time for the butler to make his departure, and yet he stood there staring at her.
She dearly hoped he was not planning on making another proposition involving the wine cellar.
“Is there something else, Bellamy?” she asked.
“As it happens, Miss,” he said gravely. “The boys and me have taken a liking to drinking chocolate and I would just mention that it’s a mercy we take a liking to anything after…the wine we do not have.”
Daisy could not imagine why she was meant to know anything about it. She waited for him to go on
.
“I would only point out that if there was to be some kind of ration of it when a housekeeper darkens our doors... Well, that would sit badly I’m afraid. The beans that are there won’t last a fortnight, and then I do not know what we’re to do.”
“So you are saying you wish to be given leave to drink chocolate each evening over the housekeeper’s objections?”
“I do, Miss.”
Daisy thought it was a bargain worth taking. She could not care less how many cocoa beans they went through. “Drink away, Bellamy. I cannot imagine a housekeeper will mind what she does not pay for but if she does, I will rectify it. Drink chocolate up to your eyes if you wish.”
Though Bellamy only nodded before he hurried from the room, his springing stride gave Daisy the idea that he viewed himself as having won a very great victory. She was perfectly amenable to that idea. As far as she was concerned, she had won a great victory too.
Daisy picked up the pile of letters on the table and thumbed through them. Some had been forwarded from London and some had been sent locally. There was one from Lady Grayson, all the way from Sweden, and she put that aside. She and Kitty had developed a regular correspondence since the remarkable events of Lady Hathaway’s themed ball. Daisy knew full well that she’d need tea and concentration to fully take in Kitty’s letter—it would be full of delightful tableaus from her wedding trip and the charming things Lord Grayson had said or done, interspersed with interesting conjectures on all manner of sciences. Kitty might be writing quite above Daisy’s head when she pondered hemi-parasitic flora, but she was a darling for not knowing it. As well, Kitty would not have been made aware of Daisy’s more recent changed circumstances and she would take her time in writing out all the details.
There were seven letters written in distinctly male hands and all sent via penny post. As she had no close acquaintance in this town, she was very afraid of what these letters contained.
Determined to be done with it, rather than sit in dread staring at them all, she opened them one by one.
